


Our Man Bashir in Valentine is Forever

by Gyhl



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015), Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Holodecks/Holosuites, M/M, This is going to get very messy, Valentine + Blood, Why do we even use the holodeck?, blame:usakoneko, holodeck? more like holodeath am I right?, not a lot of graphic detail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5891026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyhl/pseuds/Gyhl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Bashir's birthday again, and Garak has a holoprogram for him. One to top the good doctor's spy program. Wouldn't it be terrible if the holosuite malfunctioned? Because that never happens when anyone steps foot in those deathtraps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Man Bashir in Valentine is Forever

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a conversation about Garak giving Harry's spiel in the church to Dukat. So hail the Prophets and have a lovely afternoon.

"Happy birthday, doctor."

Bashir eyed the box Garak had set on the table between them. Based on the size, he assumed it contained an isolinear rod.

"More Cardassian literature?" he guessed as he picked it up.

"Not quite," he said, waiting for the good doctor to pick up the rod. "I took the liberty of researching human literature, specifically your spy novels. I had a program made for us based on them and we have a reservation at 1800 hours."

Bashir returned to his office after lunch, but the program was never far from his mind. After the spy program Garak had tagged along through, he could only imagine was a program 'based' on the human genre would be like. Probably something centered on the Obsidian Order, or a thinly veiled fictional version of such.

It was a slow day for Dr. Bashir, and that did not help his curiosity as the hours dragged on. It was barely 1430 when he took the isolinear rod out of the box again. It wouldn't hurt, would it? Not to preview the program, of course. But... just a peek? That couldn't hurt, now could it?

"Although I'm certain Garak has some passkey programmed," he mused aloud as he put the data rod into the terminal.

At first, all that came onto the screen was a 'K' laying on its side with a circle around it. After half a minute, the 'K' began to rotate and the image of a man appeared. He was sitting at a table, and Julian had the impression that it was a long one. He was bald, approximately 50, and wearing a pair of glasses. He had a grey sweater on, with a collared shirt and tie. There was a PADD - no, a clipboard - on the table in front of him. The man studied Julian's face for a moment before looking at a watch on his wrist.

"Yer early, Agent Lancelot."

He had a nicely rolling brogue, and normally that would have made Julian grin. But the name caught him off guard.

"Agent _Lancelot_?" What did Arthurian legends have to do with spy novels?

The man on the view screen gave him a stern look that was almost-but-not-quite hiding a smile.

" _Very_ early, I see. Agent Percival said I might expect that."

Bashir frowned. "Well, yes, you see, I was just, ah-"

"It isn't a problem, Lancelot. Percival gave you the pass code, of course?"

"Of course." Julian smiled. He was taking a guess, but if it was something Garak had expected, the agent names must be clues. "The Holy Grail."

The Scot smirked. "One moment, Lancelot."

The screen went dark and Julian settled back in his chair. This was going to be very interesting, wasn't it? Garak and his games, they-

"My dear doctor," Garak's voice came from the darkened view screen. "I thought patience was a virtue?"

The sideways 'K' logo returned and Julian couldn't get the character to return, not even with going to a different terminal. Suddenly, three hours seemed an eternity. It was 1740 when he went to Quark's bar, dressed in his tuxedo. Without even ordering, Quark set a martini down in front of him.

"Garak said you'd be here early." The Ferengi said with a knowing smirk. "Excited for your holosuite visit with him? I _do_ offer a birthday package, complete with a couple dabo girls or a fully programmed Orion Slave Girl. He said you wouldn't be needing them."

Julian flushed lightly, aware of the implication Quark was making. He didn't want to dignify the comment; undoubtedly, Quark had a pool going. Not that anything that was or was not going on between them was Quark's business.

"Just tell me where he is."

Quark's smirk widened. "Up in the holosuite. He's been there for, oh, ten minutes now."

Julian got up and headed up to the holosuite, taking the martini with him. It was part of the genre, after all. He sipped it as the doors opened. Garak was in there and the holosuite was active, but the only thing in the suite was the man Julian had spoken to earlier. As the doors shut, he looked at his watch.

"Early again. You have the mission file?"

Julian gave Garak a curious look and then handed the data rod to the hologram. He put it in the data rod in the terminal and a display appeared showing the 'K' logo.

"The pass code, Percival."

Garak smiled, clearly aware of the doctor's attempt at previewing the program. "Oxfords not Brogues."

Julian gave him an absurd look. What did _that_ have to do with any of this?

The logo gave way to a shot of a mansion. A table materialized beside the display with two umbrellas, two lighters, and two pens. Their shoes and wrists shimmered for a second as the holomatrix materialized watches on them and altered their shoes to look like Oxfords.

"Gentlemen," the hologram said. As he spoke, the display changed to show several views of the mansion, and a room full of lighters, shoes, pens, umbrellas, and weapons. "As Agent Percival is aware, my name is Merlin. For the next several hours, you and he will join the ranks of the Kingsman agents, an independent international intelligence agency operating at the highest level of discretion. A suit is the modern gentleman's armor and the Kingsman agents are the new knights. This is the arsenal of the agents. Rainmakers have an impenetrable canopy and the handle doubles as a long-barreled pneumatic projectile device. The lighters are fully functional, but also function as grenades. Your watches hold a 500,000-volt projectile dart to stun anyone you need. The pen has a hidden pellet of poison. And if you click your heels together, a sharp point will spring out. It's coated in a deadly poison."

As he talked about each item, the display shifted to each item and went through all of its features while Merlin spoke. Merlin gave it a moment once he was finished to change yet again. This time, another face appeared. This time, it was a man of African descent with a slight gap between his front teeth. He looked to be in his 60s. He wore glasses, a purple suit, and a purple ball cap that was angled to the side.

"This is Richmond Valentine. Mr. Valentine has released a technology that, once activated, will enrage the populace and remove inhibitions. They will kill each other without stop unless you can prevent it. As far as he's aware, you both are billionaires who have been given access to his hideout. Find him and stop him by whatever means necessary."

With that, the display deactivated.

"He has an assistant who will kill you given the chance. Good luck."

Julian and Garak gathered their rainmakers, lighters, and pens. The hologram of Merlin vanished and the room around them changed into a gaudy scene draped in red. A number of other people were milling about, although they all seemed uneasy.

Julian took the lead and started mingling, Garak following with a little smile. He knew the entire program and really had little interest in it; the fun would be in Julian finding Valentine and stopping him. He had little doubt that the doctor's solution would be less fantastic and violent than the character Eggsy had come up with. And he doubted this would be a program where Our Man Bashir seduced the lovely female assistant. But he expected the good doctor to enjoy it nonetheless. 

After talking to several people, Julian led Garak up a set of stairs to more private booths above the main floor. Sliding into one, he nodded to the glass office across the way from them.

"Valentine and his assistant, Gazelle, are both up there. No one seems certain how to get up there, but there are several doors around. I've noticed people coming in through that one," he nodded to one of the doors, "and people coming and going through that one," he nodded to another, "so I suggest we take the one there."

"Across the room from the office?"

"It's the least obvious one."

Garak tipped his head slightly, not really nodding and not really shaking his head. He found the doctor's logic to be rather interesting. He was correct, given the layout Garak had come up with, and that was fine. The program was designed to only move ahead as Bashir did, after all. He followed the doctor down the stairs and over to the door.

A woman a little more than 15 cm shorter than Bashir was waiting on the other side of the door, and she remained firmly in the way. She was lithe, with shoulder length black hair. She was a double amputee, standing on modified running blades. They actually _had_ blades coming out the center. Bashir immediately surmised that she was the assistant who would try to kill him. 

“What’s a beau-”

Before he could finish the pick up line, Gazelle attacked. She moved faster than any human ought to have been capable of. Garak went down before he could even strike her once. Rather than attack, Bashir fell back and shut the door between them, shutting her in with Garak and him in the corridor. It was only a second later that the blade was through the door.

“Computer, freeze program!” 

Nothing happened and Bashir had a moment to wonder why he even used the infernal holosuite. Something _always_ went wrong. And right now, ‘wrong’ could be defined as the soldiers filling the corridor behind him. He raised his hands in surrender in the face of all those guns. If the computer wasn’t responding, he was just going to assume the safeties were off. Since that’s how it always went. Bashir was marched down the corridor and into a cell with only a small window. He watched as they dragged Garak to another cell.

“Let me help him. I’m a doctor.”

“Damn, bro, you mother fucking Kingsmen try _all_ the tricks.” Came a male voice. “Sorry, bro, but this ain’t that kinda program.”

Valentine’s face appeared on the other side of the window. He smiled, a big and cheerful smile like he was meeting an old friend.

“Richmond Valentine. And you noticed, I said ‘program’. I’m a, what’s it called?”

“Hologram,” Gazelle answered.

“That’s right. A hologram. I tell you, you all got some _fine_ assed shit in this time.”

Bashir did his best to keep his face neutral. He’d heard of the incident on the Enterprise D regarding Moriarty. Really, _why_ did they even keep using these blasted things?

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Valentine looked at his soldiers and motioned at Bashir as if to say ‘Do you believe this guy?’ and then laughed.

“Doctor Julian Bashir. Born 2341 to Richard and Amsha Bashir.” He paused. “Fuck me, Gazelle. 23-God-damn-41. Graduated 2368 as salutatorian and took the assignment on Deep Space 9, a fucking Kardashian space station, where you’ve been the last five years. Wonders never fucking cease.”

As much as Julian wanted to correct his pronunciation of Cardassian, Bashir just shook his head. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Valentine chuckled like he expected that. “V-Glass, show us Ops.”

A display, not unlike the one Merlin had used, appeared and it did indeed show Ops. Dax was reporting a ‘curious’ power drain and was asking O’Brien to help her track it down.

“See, man? I already know. And you know what the _best_ fucking part is? I don’t need to distribute SIM cards here. My device is already tied in to your spinning fucking bicycle wheel in space. I activate it and your entire station hears it. And what’s better? Your fucking communication system will transmit that bitch! Anyone with human fucking ears is gonna be hit.”

Bashir frowned. “Surely you realize that Dax and the others will find a way to stop you.”

Valentine threw his head back and laughed. “Not this time, mother fucker. I _am_ the computer. The, uh, only problem.” He went to Garak’s door and held a hand out. Gazelle handed him a gun, and he unloaded it into Garak’s body.

“See? I watched that shit. Mother fucker ain’t even bleeding. If he were, like,” he moved his hand in front of his mouth like he was going to vomit, “It would be everywhere. But I can’t get the fucking safeties shut down. If I could, I’d kill you straight.”

He pulled Garak’s cell door shut and tossed the gun to a guard.

“Keep your eyes on the hero types here.”

He walked off, Gazelle following. One of the guards shut the window, leaving Bashir alone. The cell was nice enough for a cell. A full bedroom and bathroom, and rather nicely done at that. He’d actually be comfortable in here. Except that his friends were all going to kill each other if he couldn’t get out.

“Computer,” he tried, “Activate Merlin hologram.”

Merlin didn’t appear, but a pair of glasses did.

“Oh, yes, because these will be _very_ helpful, computer. Thank you.” He put them on, however, and was shocked to hear Merlin’s voice.

“Knew I should have given yeh both a pair.”

“Well at least _something_ is still functioning. Something went wrong with this blasted program and Valentine-”

“-Is going to try to take over the universe,” Merlin finished dryly. “What do you need? I can’t do _much_. Bastard has me locked out of almost everything.”

“Can you unlock the door? Maybe get rid of the guards?”

Merlin was quiet for a few moments, the sideways ‘K’ logo flashing on the lenses.

“I can unlock the door, but I can’t get rid of the guards. What I _can_ do is give you a rainmaker and a gun.”

“I’d rather a phaser, honestly, but if that is all you can do, I’ll take it.”

The weapons materialized in front of him, hovering in the air until he took them. 

“Now, I can’t get Percival's door unlocked. Ye’ll be on your own.”

Bashir nodded. “I’m not surprised.”

“I can monitor the corridors, however. And your suit will act as a Kingsman suit; they’re bullet-proof. So if Valentine does manage to disengage the safeties, you’ll still be mostly protected. Get ready…”

The next few minutes were a haze that Bashir couldn’t even correctly recall later. He turned as Merlin yelled out directions or where guards were. He used the protection of his suit and the rainmaker, shooting guards until he ran out of bullets and then used the projectiles in the rainmaker itself. He fought hand-to-hand as needed, using the hardwood handle of his rather useful rainmaker as he could. When Merlin finally said he saw no one else coming, Bashir stood up properly and bullets all but rained from the creases in his suit.

With Merlin’s help, he got back into the party room. Valentine and Gazelle were in the office and he could see them both at the window. He lifted up the rainmaker, noticing the holes someone had managed to shoot in the canopy, and pulled the trigger.

“Merlin, I’m empty.”

Before the Scot could answer, a crash came from above. Bashir looked up in time to see Gazelle coming at him through the window. She was on him in seconds, although he noticed she had slowed down considerably. Either she was playing with him or Valentine was using those resources to get his machine working.

“It’s V-Day, mother fucker!”

Bashir barely heard him but he understood enough what Valentine meant: his weapon was active. Every second he took, another person on the station would probably be dead. Maybe Kira, maybe Dax, maybe Miles. And it pushed him to fight her all the harder, his genetically enhanced brain trying to come up with a way to stop her, subdue her, kill her. He had to face it: he was accustomed to spy programs where he was supposed to win and battles where he was the medic and not the warrior.

“Shoes!” Merlin yelled in his ear after what seemed an eternity of fighting Gazelle.

Bashir kicked his heels together and kicked her, hard, with the point of his shoe. She jumped back from him and looked down at his feet in confusion before her face contorted with pain. Bashir was a little disgusted to see her skin turn a putrid green color before she collapsed. All that was left was Valentine and his machine.

“It’s biometric. Get his hand off it and it shuts down.”

 _Hand off_ , Bashir thought wildly, _how do I get his blasted hand off from here?_

He looked down at Gazelle and her running blades. He dove for her and all but ripped one off of her. He held it up, testing the weight of it. It wasn’t made for throwing, but it was light enough and he threw it. Of all the darts games he ever played, he never felt this nervous about a throw, but as always, his aim was true and it struck Valentine in the back. Valentine touched his chest and looked at his hand and the blood on it.

“Fuck,” he muttered before being violently ill all over his machine and falling backward from the office.

“Machine’s off!” Merlin announced.

Bashir walked over to Valentine.

“Is this where say some really bad pun?”

Bashir couldn’t help but smirk. He hadn't been planning on it, but now... “Well, it’s like you said. This isn’t that kind of program.”

Valentine laughed weakly and said one final word before dying: “Perfect.”

“Computer, end program.” But nothing happened. “Computer? Merlin, why isn’t the program ending?”

“Well… You’ve still got to rescue the prisoner.”

Bashir laughed and started trotting back to the cells. “Usually, you know, these programs have a woman at the end.” He stopped at Garak’s door and tried the handle. It was locked, but there was a keypad below. “Merlin, it’s locked. How do I get in?”

“26-25”

“Thank you.”

He opened the door and went inside. It was just as cozy and comfortable in Garak’s cell as it had been in his own. The Cardassian was sitting on his bed, suit jacket off, tie and the first few buttons of his shirt undone. There was a bottle of champagne on ice and two glasses. Garak had already filled them.

“Did you save the universe?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Are you now here to save me?”

“Yes, I am.” Bashir paused. _Why_ wasn’t the program ending? “Computer…”

Garak chuckled and stood up. “The program isn’t over.”

“I don't care if it isn't finished! I have who knows how many wounded and dying out there!”

“Doctor.”

“That madman actually managed to tie his device into the station!”

“Doctor.”

“He was going to _broadcast_ that signal, and-”

“ _Julian_.”

Bashir stopped instantly. Had Garak _ever_ called him Julian before?

Garak smirked and held out a glass of champagne. “My dear Julian, how often does a holosuite malfunction result in a dire life-or-death situation for those people unlucky enough to be around it? Quite honestly, I’m surprised Starfleet doesn’t have a course on forcing the holosuites to shut down when an error happens. But I assure you, no one has been hurt; it was all part of my program.”

“It… _What?_ ”

Garak’s smirk widened as Bashir floundered.

“Bashir to Ops.”

“Ops here.” Kira. And sounding amused.

Bashir could have ended the communication then and there. Obviously, Garak had warned Ops that their doctor might be checking to make sure things were fine. But he went on anyway. He had to be absolutely certain. “Is everything alright, Major?”

“Everything is perfectly fine, doctor.”

“I… see.”

There was a stifled laugh and then, “Ops out.”

Bashir stared at Garak. “You… I thought… He.”

“Have a drink, Julian.”

He took the glass and a deep draught from it. “And since when are we on a first name basis, _Elim_? Furthermore, what _is_ left of this program?”

The first question had been petty, yes. He’d stayed with Garak through his withdrawal. He’d had lunch with the man every day for the better part of five years. He'd been imprisoned with the man. But... he was feeling a little petty right now.

“Well, as I understand it, after Eggsy - a terrible name for a human, by the way - saved the world and the Princess Tilde, she gave him the standard human spy reward.”

The standard human spy reward. Bashir had played spy enough to know exactly what that meant.

“You… you _actually_ brought me to a holosuite to _seduce_ me?”

“Yes.”

Bashir set the glass of champagne down. “Computer, discontinue…” he paused, “the Merlin hologram.”

The glasses dematerialized and Bashir took his suit jacket off. Certainly, he’d had worse birthdays, and worse birthday presents. He only hoped someone other than Quark had the time slot for when they left the holosuite.


End file.
